No more a Britain, I have resum'd again,
The part I come in. Fight, I will no more,
But yield me to the veriest hinds, that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
On either side. For me, my ransom's death,
1 come to spend my breath;

Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again,
But end it by some means for Imogen,

SCENE VI

CYMBELINE's Tent.

Enter CYMBELINE, BELLARIUS, GUIDERIUS,
ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Lords.

[Exit.

Cym. STAND by my side, you, whom the gods have

Preservers of my throne: who is my heart,

That the poor soldier that so richly fought,

(Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast Step'd before shields of proof, cannot be found

He shall be happy that can find him, if

Our grace can make him so.

Bel. I never saw

Such noble fury in so poor a thing.

Cym. No tidings of him?

Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead, and living, But no trace of him? Cym. To my grief, I am,

The heir of his reward, which I will add

To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain;

By whom, I grant, she lives.

To ask of whence you are.
In Cambria are we born, and

To Bel. Guid. and Arvirag.
'Tis now the time
Bel. Sir,

Report it.
gentlemen:

Further to boast, were neither true, nor modest,

Unless I add, we are honest. Cym. Bow your knees;
Arise, my knights o' th' battle, I create you

Companions to our person, and will fit you

With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies..

There's business in these faces: why so sudly

M 5

Great

Greet you our victory? you look like Roma.:s
And not o' th' court of Britain.

Cor. Hail, great king;

To sour our buppiness, I must report
The queen is dead.

Cym. Dead, say'st thou! bow ended she ?
Cor. With boror, madly dying, like berself,
Who, being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to berself. What she confest,

I will report, so please you. These ber women
Can trip me, if I err: who will wet cheeks
Were present when she finisb’d.

Cym. Pr'ytbee say.

Cym. First she confess'd she never lov'd you; only Affected greatness got by you;

Married your royalty, bis wife to your place,

Abbor'd your person.

Cym. She alone knew this:

And but she spoke it dying, I would not

Believe ber lips in opening it. Procecd.

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in band to love

With such integrity, she did confess,

Was as a scorpion to her sight, whose life,
But that her flight prevented it, she bad

Ta'en off by poison.

Cym. O most delicate fiend!

Who is't can read a woman? is there more?

Cor. More Sir, and worse. · She did confess she bad

For you a mortal mineral, which being took,
Should by the mixture feed on life, and lingʻring,
By inches waste you. In which time, she purpos'd
By watching, weeping, tendance, to o'ercome
You with ber shew: yes, and in time, to work.
Her son into th' adoption of the crown?
But failing of ber end by bis strange absence,
Grew shameless, desperate, open'd, in despight
Of beav'n and men, ber purposes; repented
The ills she batch'd, were not effected: so
Despairing, dv'd.

Cym. Heard you all this, her women?
Lady. We did, so please your highness.
Cym. Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful:

Mine ears that beard her flattery, nor my beart,
That thought her like ber seeming. It had been vicious
To bave mistrusted ber; yet, O my daughter!

That it was folly in me, thɔu may'st say,

And prove it in thy feeling. Heav'n mend all.

Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and other Roman Prisoners,
LEONATUS bebind, and IMOGEN.

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britains have ras'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls my be appeas'd, with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted.
So think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, Sir, the chance of war; the day
Was yours by accident: had it gone with us,

We should not, when the blood was cool, have threat'ned

Our prisoners with the sword. But since the Gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth,
A Roman; with a Roman's heart can suffer;
Augustus lives to think on't; and so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will intreat, my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom'd; never master had
A page so kind, so dutious, diligent,

So tender over his occasions,

He hath done no Briton harm

Though he hath serv'd a Roman. Save him, Sir

And

spare no blood beside.

Cym. I've surely seen him;

His favour is familiar to me; bɔy,

Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,

I know not why, nor wherefore,

To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master, live;
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt
Fitting my bounty, and thy state I'll give it;
Know'st him thou look'st hin? speak

Wilt have him live? is he thy kin? thy friend?
Imo. He is a Roman, no more kin of me,

Than I to your highness, who being born your vassal
Am something nearer.

Cym. Wherefore ey st him so?

M 6

Imo.

Imo. I'll tell you, Sir, in private, if you please

To give my hearing.

Cym. Ay, with all my heart,

And lend my best attention.

Imo. Fidele, Sir.

What's thy name?

Cym. Thou'rt my good youth, my page,

I'll be thy mas er: walk with me, speak freely. [Go aside.

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

Arv. One sand another

Not more resembles than he th' sweet rosy lad,

Who dy'd, and was Fidele; what think you ?
Guid. The same dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace, see further;

Pis. It is my mistress:

Since she is living, let the time run on,
To good or bad.

Cym. Come, stand thou by our side,

[Aside.

Make thy demand aloud. Sir, step you forth, [To Iach. Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,

Or by your greatness and the grace of it

Which is our honour, bitter torture shall

Winnow the truth from falshood. On, speak to him.
Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may tender

Of whom he had this ring.

Post. What's that to him!

[Aside wondering.

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say,

How came it yours?

Iach. Thoul't torture me to leave unspoken that

Which to be spoke would torture thee.

Cym. How! me?

Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter what

Torments me to conceal. By villany

I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel,

[thee

Whom thou didst banish: (and which more may grieve

As it doth me) a nobler Sir ne'r liv'd

'Twix't sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? Cym. All that belongs to this.

Iacb. That paragon, thy daughter,

For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
Quail to remember. Give me leave, I faint-

[Swoons.

Cym. My daughter, what of her? Renew thy strength, I had rather thou should'st live, while nature will, Than die eie I hear more: strive, man, and speak.

Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour) it was in Rome, (accurs'd The mansion where,) 'twas at a feast, oh would Our viands had been poison'd! or at least

Those which I heav'd to head; the worthy Posthumus-
Cym. I stand on fire. Come to the matter.

Iach. Your daughter's chastity; there it begins.
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,
And she alone were cold: whereat, I wretch
Made scruple of his praise, and wag'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger: to attain

In suit the place of's bed, and win this ring,
By her's and mine adultery. Away to Britain
Post I in this design: well may you, Sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught,
By your chaste daughter, the wide difference
'Twixt amorous, and villainous.

Yet to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd with similar proof, enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown,
With tokens thus, and thus; and he could not
But think her bound of chastisy quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit: whereupon,
Methinks I see him now.

Post. Ay, so thou dos't,

[Coming forward.

Italian fiend! ay me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer. Thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being;
To come-Oh give me cord, knife, or poison,
Some upright justicer. Thou king send out
For torturers ingenious; it is I

That all th' abhorred things o' th earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter: villain-like, 1 lye,
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief to do't. The temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself-
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o' th' street to bait me; every villain
Be call d Posthumus Leonatus, and

Be villainy less than 'twas. Oh Imogen!

My